Stages
by Faith-o-saurus
Summary: The stages of how Peeta and Katniss grow back together.


**So, I really wanted to make a one-shot, and this is what happened. It's pretty much just a breakdown of how Peeta and Katniss grow back together at the end of Mockingjay.**

**Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Hunger Games**

* * *

The nights have changed between the slightest bit better and the slightest bit worse since the day I saw Peeta digging holes in my yard, planting the one flower I have come to despise and adore, both for completely different reasons. Sometimes, when no one is awake to see – or perhaps they are, seeing as none of us really ever sleep for very long – I will sit near the bushes and stroke the silky yellow petals. The days come and go like this for I'm not sure how long; a never-ending routine for the broken.

When I wake up today, it is already apparent that something is different. Greasy Sae still comes every day, but everything is always done in silence; I'm not sure if this is for my benefit or hers. When I come out of my sleep-addled state, I can hear the bell-like laughter of her granddaughter and a familiar male's voice – Peeta's. I could pick up his tone from a mile away.

I force myself out of bed, curiosity taking over. Instead of simply going down in my pajamas, I put on a shirt and pair of pants and brush out my hair. I finish up with brushing my teeth, and then I'm heading out of my room and to the stairs.

One thing I will never lose is my hunter's tread. I take each step carefully, the voices never stopping, so I know they don't hear me; I'm still underweight, so my weight barely causes distress on the steps. The first thing I see as I step down onto the first floor is Peeta sitting in the living room with Greasy Sae's granddaughter, both of them playing with Buttercup. He's purring. The next thing I notice is the smell of fresh cooked meat in the kitchen, so I decide to go to the kitchen.

I sneak past the living room and into the kitchen, and I purposely make enough noise to let Greasy Sae know that I'm in the room with her. She turns around, not looking as worn. I glance toward the living room pointedly.

"He came over with bread. I invited him to stay for breakfast; that way, at least someone's eating it," she says, motioning over to the loaf of bread already set up on the table. There's no malice in her tone, more as if she was just stating a common fact.

All I do is nod and sit down at the table quietly. I'm conflicted; I've wanted to see Peeta after he planted the primroses, but now that he is so near I don't exactly know how to act. Everything has changed. The war has left us all in shambles, and now it feels like everyone is a stranger.

I rest my head in my hand, my elbow placed firm on the table, and watch Sae cook the rest of breakfast. I can still hear the laughter from the living room, and my foot twitches in response. I want to go out there.

I jump when a plate is placed in front of me and look up to see Sae looking straight at me. "Talk to the boy. I know you want to." She places another plate across the table and begins to put the dishes into the sink. "I have errands to run today, so I'm going to have to leave a bit early."

I idly wonder if she's telling the truth. I sit and stare at the food while she leaves the room to go collect her granddaughter. I hear Peeta before I see him; when he comes into my peripheral vision, I glance up at his face to see him looking back at me. I offer a small smile, angry with myself for acting so awkward.

He sits down and smiles. "Greasy Sae offered me breakfast. Is that all right?"

I nod and sit up straighter. "Yeah. Let's eat," I say as I grab my fork. The food is nice and flavorful, thanks to the extra ingredients we can afford. I don't mind that Greasy Sae uses what I have – someone should be able to. "This is good."

He nods. "She's definitely got a knack for cooking."

I nod and smile. The air is less thick and I feel an overwhelming sense of relief that I wasn't quite expecting. Maybe I've missed him more than I've let myself believe. But then, it could just be my mind making up lies again.

THG

"You captured his eyes perfectly," I say as I watch Peeta paint Finnick Odair onto a sheet of paper to place in our ever-growing book. I try and keep my voice steady because I don't want to tell him how hard seeing this picture is. I considered Finnick one of my dearest friends after how much he helped me, even through his own pain (and maybe my presence helped him, too).

Peeta glances over with a half-hearted smile. "Thanks. I just need to picture the sea." His smile is a little brighter, and I feel embarrassed when this one line brings tears to my eyes.

I look away and blink, and my eyes fall on the photograph next to some of Peeta's paints. Finnick has a son. A beautiful baby boy that will never know his father. "He has his eyes."

"Hm?" I glance over at him and watch as he sees what has caught my attention. He softens and places a hand on my shoulder. "He does. Looks just like him, really."

I nod and then stay silent for the rest of his painting, only moving to glue the photo on, then watch Peeta do the rest of the work to attach the page carefully into the book. He leaves it open for now to let it dry.

We sit and stare. I can't decipher my feelings right now anymore, don't know if I'm filled with sadness or hope. I idly wonder how Annie is doing with the baby, with how much he resembles his father. I'm not sure if I would be able to handle it.

A few minutes later, Peeta grabs another sheet, one of the papers that he sketches the picture on before copying it with paint. I'm intrigued and a little apprehensive, since we hadn't planned on doing anyone else today.

As if reading my thoughts, he says, "I want to draw my father. We can do the writing tomorrow, but I just want to draw the picture out."

I nod, but don't say anything. What could I say? I only knew his father through the few conversations we had. As I watch him draw the picture out, the determination that usually appears when he paints more evident than normal, I decide that I should give him space to grieve alone. It's what I would want if I were in his position.

The moment I go to stand, he stops his drawing and looks up at me with innocent eyes. Innocence I have not seen in a long time. "Where are you going?"

I continue to look down at him. Do I tell him I was going to let him grieve alone, that this is none of my business? No. He would find some way to have me stay, because he's not like me. He doesn't hide away from the world when things get hard, doesn't run away from his problems. "I was going to go make us some tea."

The innocence turns into disbelief, but he hides it quickly. "All right, that sounds nice." He turns back to his drawing, letting me off the hook. I guess, as long as I stay, it doesn't really matter.

I head to the kitchen and fill the kettle, putting it on the stove to heat up. Before I can sit down at the table, there's a crash. I'm in the living room before I even realized I had moved. Peeta's not on the couch anymore, his drawing lying down on the coffee table, his pencils strewn all over the table and couch. "Peeta?"

I slowly make my way around the table, finding every possible exit if necessary. He could be having what Dr. Aurelius called a "flashback", which is the aftermath of his hijacking. He said they tried to cure him completely, but the hijacking was too deep in his mind; the fact that he has recovered at all is a feat in itself, considering he's the only one to ever be able to.

When I see him, my heart breaks. He's doubled over, eyes screwed shut and hands clutched around a leg of the coffee table. He's shaking from the force of his hold, and the utter pain etched in his features is what gets me to move again. I kneel down beside him, but not too close in case the hijacking somehow takes over. "Peeta," I whisper, turning my head slightly to get a better look at his face. "Peeta, come back."

He whimpers, and I can't help but lay a gentle hand on his shoulder, hoping to force him back to reality. It takes another five minutes before slowly opens his eyes, and when he looks at me, all I see is confusion. "My family is dead, real or not real?"

Guilt floods inside of me. His family. Of course that's why he had a flashback; I left him alone while he drew a picture of his father. Surely I should have known this would be a trigger. "Real," I whisper, unable to look at him any longer.

"District 12 was bombed, real or not real?"

"Real."

"You killed them, real or not real?"

I want to say real. Technically, it is; his parents would still be here if I didn't cause so much havoc. None of the bombing victims would be gone. I know he means literally, so I look up and say, "Not real."

He seems more lucid now. "I know." He sits up and flexes his hands, then sighs and looks down at his lap. "I'm so sorry, Katniss. I was hoping you wouldn't have to…"

He was hoping that I wouldn't have to see him like this. The guilt is building back up, but because he doesn't want to show me what he thinks is his weakness. I don't want him to feel like he can't show me; to feel like I will judge him. "No Peeta, please don't be sorry."

We stare at each other for a moment, neither knowing what to do, when the tea kettle whistles high and loud. I turn away and jump up, and take the kettle off of the burner when I make it into the kitchen. I stand there for a minute, trying to process everything when loud footsteps make their way beside me.

"Tea ready?"

I look toward him. He smiling, but it doesn't quite reach his eyes. I try and smile back, and nod. "Yeah, just let me get the tea out."

The tea soaks into the water and we drink it in silence. I look at him; he still looks a bit beat-up, but what I really hate is the look of shame. Without thinking, I reach our and cover one of his hands with mine. "I don't think any less of you for this. Just…let me help you."

He looks into my eyes, and this time the smile is a little bit more genuine.

THG

"Peeta, no. I'll burn the place down."

He laughs and stands beside me in front of my kitchen counter, arms crossed. He has placed all of the ingredients for his cheese buns on it; his plan is to teach me to make them for myself since I always ask him for a batch. I don't see why, because I know he loves to bake. Then again, I never always ask at the most opportune moments. "I'm teaching you whether you like it or not. I can't always be at your beck and call, you know."

I huff and cross my arms. "I don't know how to bake!"

He shakes his head, grinning. "Katniss, these are literally the easiest things to bake. At least try. Plus, I'm right here, so there's no way you'll go wrong."

I sigh and lean against the counter, looking up at him. "Fine. What's first?"

He leans over and grabs a large bowl. "We need flour, sugar, salt, baking powder, and Crisco."

Luckily, everything has the name on the front, so I easily pick out all of the ingredients and place them next to the bowl. He stands there, looking at me and glancing toward his cookbook. I start to get frustrated when he doesn't move. "So, are you going to start?"

He raises an eyebrow. "You're making them, remember?"

I glare at him, refusing to back down. He's the baker, I'm the hunter. After about three minutes of this, it's apparent that he's not backing down, either, so I roll my eyes and grab the book. "So, I just copy this?"

"Yep. Here." He hands me the measuring cups and a fork with a smile.

I take the fork in my hand and inspect it. "What am I going to do with a fork?" I glance over at him for only a moment, to show him my disdain.

He nods toward the block of Crisco. "When you mix it in, it needs to become crumbly. Using the fork helps separate the pieces, and then I usually use my hands to do the rest."

I turn away and make a show of measuring out the ingredients and pouring them in. I cut off a chunk of the Crisco and use the fork to smash it, but I get frustrated because it keeps on sticking to the fork. "Peeta, this is stupid. You do it."

He shakes his head and pushes it off of the fork with a finger. "You just need to separate the pieces, then you can start rolling them between your fingers to get smaller pieces."

I do as I am told, and am actually pretty happy I did it right. "So, I just keep following the book?"

He nods. "It's pretty simple. I'll get out the baking sheet and start the oven."

I turn back and look through the book again. "So, I put more sugar, garlic powder, cheese, milk…" I dump them all in and grab a wooden mixing spoon and mix it up, but it starts getting more difficult.

Peeta comes up behind me. "You should starts using your hands to mix it up better. Then we'll lay it out and cut it into circles with the biscuit cutter."

I start mixing it with my hands, then scrunch my nose. "Ugh, it's cold and mushy."

He guffaws. "Really? You gut animals, Katniss."

I turn and glare at him, before going back to my task. "That's different."

"Gutting animals is way more disgusting. These ingredients aren't disgusting in any way."

"Well, it feels weird."

He slaps a large cutting board down next to me. "We'll agree to disagree. It looks good, though, so we can go ahead and lay it out."

I grab a good amount and am about to drop it down.

"Wait, wait!"

I jump and throw it back in the bowl. "Dammit Peeta, what?"

"We need to sprinkle flour down first. Don't want it to stick."

I groan. "This is way too much work."

"Not work, art."

I snort and look at him in disbelief. "Baking isn't art, Peeta. It's _baking_."

He shakes his head. "What about all of those cakes I decorate?"

"That's different. That's decorating, not combing a bunch of stuff with my hands. Anyone can do that."

"Exactly. That's why I'm teaching you."

"Peeta!" I huff and throw the ball of dough down again when he's done with the flour. He must feel my pain, because he grabs the rolling pin and rolls it out for me, then starts cutting out circles.

"When you cut them out, you want to place them so they're touching. It helps them rise better. After we bake them, we'll cover them in some cheese to melt on top."

It's nice that it only takes about eight minutes to bake, because all of this work is making me hungry. While Peeta works on the rest of the buns, I put the ingredients away and wash the dishes.

"Done!"

They look as delicious as always and my mouth waters in response. "Thank God. I'm hungry."

He pushes my hand away gently. "They're still hot. Let's go relax in the living room for a bit."

I don't decline, because I'm feeling rather exhausted. It's late at night, so I don't know why he decided to teach me to bake suddenly. Well, I guess I do, since I asked him to make me cheese buns.

We go and sit on the couch in the living room. He leans forward and pulls out a historic book to read, something that came forth after President Snow was gone. Apparently there have been many books of all different kinds that were kept in his mansion. They are still hard to obtain, but we have an advantage. This particular one is a text book.

As we look through it, my eyelids start to droop…

"Katniss!"

I'm being shaken, by who I'm not sure. My throat is raw from screaming. In my dream, the mutts from the first games were back, but they weren't the tributes. They were Prim, Finnick, Boggs. The woman from the Capitol. President Coin. They gnawed on both Peeta and me.

"Katniss, come on. Please wake up."

My eyes open and I am immediately met with a pair of bright blue ones. Peeta. "Peeta…" I'm wrapped up in his arms, and I'm pretty sure he's stroking my hair.

"Oh Katniss, I'm sorry. You fell asleep, so I got the cheese buns out for you so you could rest." He pulls away so he can look at me; his expression is full of concern.

I look down, embarrassed. "Well…thanks. I am pretty tired; I should probably go to bed." With you. I can't tell him that, though; it's not fair after all I have put him through. I pull away from him and stand up.

He seems hesitant, but gets up. "Will you be all right?"

I cross my arms and nod. "Yeah. Thanks." I hate that I'm acting cold, because all he is being is nice. And honestly, if he were to ask to stay I wouldn't turn down the offer.

"I just…maybe I could stay a little longer. Just until you get back to sleep."

It's almost as if he can hear my thoughts. "Uh, yeah, sure. I was going to go to the bedroom." I give him a look, then head of the stairs. I'm relieved when I hear his heavy footsteps behind me.

When I lay down in bed, he lies down next to me above the covers and pushes the hair out of my eyes. When I don't move away, he continues to run his fingers through my hair, lulling me to sleep.

He's spent every night since.

THG

"It's beautiful."

I look toward Peeta as he stares out at the lake. The same lake my father would take me to when I was younger; the one that came very much in handy during the Quarter Quell. We're laying out on the grass at the shore. "Want to go swimming?"

He looks at me with apprehension. "I still don't know how to swim."

I smile and make him stand up with me. "I'll teach you."

"But, we don't have bathing suits." I can tell that he's trying to find a way to get out of this, but I won't let it happen.

I take a deep breath; I don't want to get my clothes all wet and have to wear them back, so all I can do is go without them. When I was with my father, we would only wear underclothes in the water, but that was different. "Well…I mean, you have stuff on underneath your clothes, right?"

He nods. "Well, yeah. Are you suggesting we swim in our underwear? Or are you just trying to prove you're not pure."

I almost forgot about that, and even though I want to be mad, I'm happier that he was able remember. I roll my eyes. "I'm not pure!"

He laughs and shrugs. "All right." He starts undressing and I fight not to turn away.

"All right, then." He's already finished and is looking at me expectantly. I wrap my arms around myself. "Can you not look at me?"

He laughs and turns around. "I promise not to look."

I nod, even though he can't see me. I undress quickly and am happy that I went with the boy short underwear. I run into the water and crouch down so I'm completely covered. "All right, you can turn around."

He turns and sees me in the water and looks apprehensive again. "So, you want me to just get in?"

I nod. "It's not even deep here; I'm just crouching down. Come on." I watch him tread through the water, which thankfully is warm. When he reaches me, I smile. "Ready to swim?"

He looks surveys the lake, then nods. "I guess."

I smile and grab his hand. "I'm going to pull you while you kick your legs, all right?"

He nods and looks a bit embarrassed. Probably doesn't like having to be taught to swim by me, but in the end it'll be worth it.

We spend most of the day swimming, which he catches onto quickly. He's not as good as me, but he's not bad either. When we make it back to shore, we lay out on the grass to dry off.

He turns his head toward me. "Thanks, Katniss. This was a lot of fun."

I smile and close my eyes. "No problem. It was fun teaching you." I force myself not to react when I feel his warm hand take mine, but at this point I have no reason to move away. I turn my head to look at him, as well, and the look he is giving me sends a shiver down my spine. "Maybe we should head back."

He nods and we both sit up, but don't let go of the other's hand besides when we re-dress. We walk home in comfortable silence, but it quickly ends when we see Haymitch sitting out on his porch with a bottle of spirits.

He waves and says, "Hey there Sweetheart. Teaching the boy to swim? Last I checked you didn't own a swimsuit." He laughs when I flip him off and pull Peeta into my house.

I roll my eyes once the door is closed safely behind us. Peeta just laughs. "He's just joking, Katniss."

I shrug. "I know, I know. He's just…too much sometimes. And by sometimes, I mean all the time."

Peeta laughs again and shakes his head. Then he's staring at me, the smile gone. The next thing I know, his lips are on mine.

When he pulls away, he says, "Thanks for the lessons."

I stay close and speak in a low voice that matches his. "Anytime."

THG

I wake gasping for air. I'm already in Peeta's arms and he's rocking me back and forth, and I can't help the tears that fall from my eyes.

"Shh, it's all right. I'm fine," he's whispering in my ear. I must have been screaming his name in my sleep, and I finally know how he felt whenever he would dream of me being hurt or dying. I'm shaken up and can't seem to cling to him any closer, afraid that he will vanish before my eyes.

"Peeta, they were – you were –" I can't finish my sentence, and I don't want to. All I can remember is his screams, the blood. I hide my face in the crook of his neck and wrap my arms around his waist.

He shushes me and lays back down, taking me with him. "Try and go back to sleep."

I lift up and stare at him. His eyes are half-lidded from disrupted sleep and his lips are rosy pink. I lean in and kiss him softly, reveling in the feeling. "I'm so glad you're here," I whisper, before leaning down again.

He smiles and pulls back. "I'm glad I'm here, too." He kisses me and pulls me back down to his chest, but I'm not done.

I pull myself back up to face him again. "My dreams…it seems like most of my nightmares are about you. About losing you." I can feel the tears coming back, so I kiss him. He tilts his head to deepen the kiss, and I feel that thing again, the one from the beach. It's burning inside of me, and causes me to climb on top of him and press down.

The moan that comes out of his mouth fuels me on. I can feel him try to pull away in embarrassment, but I simply shake my head. "No, don't stop." I can feel _him _pressing against me and it makes that fire burn brighter. "Oh…"

He wraps an arm around my waist and switches us so that he's on top of me. He kisses down my neck and along the top line of my tank top, and all I want is for him to move down farther. He's too good, though; he will leave this up to me. I stop him and sit up, only glancing at him briefly to see his darkened eyes. _With lust_, I think. It's a foreign feeling to me, but not unwelcome.

I pull the top off of me, and it's too late when I remember that I didn't wear a bra to bed. I push aside any insecurities and allow instinct to guide me, and I can't stop the loud gasp that comes from me when he takes one nipple in his mouth, sucking gently. He sleeps without a shirt, so I can feel his arm skin pressed against mine.

"Katniss…you're beautiful." He kisses his way back up to my neck and grinds himself into me, making me groan and wrap my legs around his waist to pull him closer.

I know where this is heading, and I've realized that I want it. I want him. I drop my legs and push him off gently. "Peeta, have you…have you ever done…" My words are failing me, but I was never the one with the silver tongue to begin with.

He seems to understand me, though, because he shakes his head. "You're actually the first and only girl I've ever kissed. I've always been so taken with you."

All I can do is nod. "Then we'll learn together." I pull him back down into a kiss, but he pulls away again.

"So, you want to…"

"Yes." I look him straight in the eyes, because I know he is worried that I will doubt this, doubt _us_, and I don't ever want him to have that worry again. I glance down and move my hands to carefully untie the drawstring on his pajama pants.

This seems like all he needs, since he's taking over and taking off his pants. "That's better. Was getting a bit uncomfortable." He blushes once he realizes what he just said, but I just laugh. It helps to calm my nerves a bit, which are now running high.

I let him pull down my shorts, and when his hands make their way up my thighs, I can't help but pull him back up to me into a searing kiss.

Once we're ready, it takes a bit of maneuvering, and it doesn't help that we're both shaky with nerves and inexperience, but once we're together, nothing has felt as wonderful. It's something I've never experienced, something I can't compare to anything.

He finishes earlier than I'm ready for him to, but I tell him it's okay. We have plenty of time to figure things out together.

He lies down and brings an arm around me. I lay my head on his chest, content with breathing in his scent.

"Katniss?" When I look up at him, he has a peculiar expression – it's mixed with hope and apprehension. "You love me. Real or not real?"

It is this moment that I realize that there is no question of how I feel. "Real."

* * *

**So...yeah. **

**Read and Review!**


End file.
